


The Pirate and the Biker

by ausmac



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Elizabeth decides to cheer up the mood on Atlantis with a fancy dress party, there are an awful lot of pirates....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pirate and the Biker

"I'm going as a pirate." 

McKay's face fell, and then screwed up into the kind of petulant scowl that always reminded John Sheppard of a very young, very bright child. 

"You stole my idea!  Typical! I knew I shouldn't have said anything, I have my costume just about worked out and now…" 

"Look, McKay, probably just about everyone is going as a pirate, y'know." 

"Are not!  What makes you say that?" 

"Because.  Well, it's obvious." 

"Excuse me." 

Both men turned at the sound of Elizabeth Weir's calm but determined voice. 

"Could this conversation take place later?" 

The Petulance had not faded.  "Fine.  Good.  I'll just forget about the whole thing.  Stupid idea anyhow." 

Elizabeth blinked, and John sighed.  _Rodney, Tact Master of the Universe…_

"I'm sorry, Rodney, I thought you liked the idea of a Halloween fancy dress party." 

The scowl faded as Rodney recognised his faux par.  "Oh, yes, I mean, it's a great idea.  But…" 

Elizabeth looked at John who was reminded once again of the many roles of the Atlantis commander; diplomat, administrator, co-ordinator, party planner and Mother Hen.  He sighed, sacrificially. 

 "Oh, all right.  I'll think of something else.  But I still think you can have more than one pirate at a party, you know." 

John noted that the others at the morning meeting were watching the conversation in manners determined by their nature.  Ronon was blank-faced but John recognised the expression as the one Ronon wore when he really didn't understand the topic but wasn't prepared to let on.  Teyla was smiling mildly, amused as always by the way he and Rodney interacted.  Zelenka shook his head and bent back to his laptop, obviously uninterested, while Dr Beckett was openly amused.  And Caldwell: Mr Stone Face was staring past them at the wall, possibly reciting regs to himself to stay awake.  As usual, the Stone Face triggered the little devil that didn't wait all that far below the surface. 

"And what about the Daedelus crew?  Are they invited?" 

Caldwell's focus sharpened and his attention snapped to John.  His nostrils pinched but the face stayed otherwise unchanged.  Elizabeth pursed her lips. 

"Yes, as a matter of fact.  Colonel Caldwell has indicated that any of the crew not required for duty are able to attend." 

"Including the Colonel?" John asked, wide-eyed. 

"Including," Caldwell said softly, "the Colonel." 

"Great," McKay whined quietly, "probably another pirate." 

#####

 

Steven Caldwell studied his reflection in the small mirror in his quarters.  It took a little twisting and maneuvering but the parts seemed to all hold together in a surprisingly aesthetic whole. 

As he tightened the belt, he remembered Weir's manifest surprise at his acceptance on behalf of the Daedelus.  She'd obviously not expected him to say yes, but he knew the benefit of humor and entertainment in times of war.  The constant stress of living in a fight-or-flight situation taxed even the most grounded of personnel, and morale became harder to maintain if that stress was never released.  So the foolish idea of a fancy dress party had been just the ticket after months of crises. 

At first his people had sneered at the notion, but they were a sharp, competitive bunch and it didn't take long for them to get into the plan.  Nobody was keeping score, there were no prizes for best dressed, but they'd been inventive in finding the bits and pieces for costumes.  Especially when it had got around that the Atlanteans had done a couple of sneaky off-world missions to worlds where they could grab some fancy fabrics and knickknacks.  Someone had even tried to convince Hermiod to dress up in a sack and carry a chemical lightube, but the little alien had been unimpressed with the idea of playing Yoda.  His tone had indicated that he rather thought his human shipmates had lost what few balanced neurons they possessed. 

Satisfied, Steven left his quarters and headed for the transporter.  The party had started half an hour since and the ship was being maintained on a shortened duty watch, so no-one saw him until he arrived just outside the party room.  It allowed him to make a suitably impressive entry. 

 

####

 

He'd been right after all - there were quite a few pirates.  John had tried to find another costume just to keep his volatile Chief Scientist happy, but there simply hadn't been time, and it was too good a costume to abandon.  Teyla had found him a long floppy-sleeved white shirt which he wore open nearly to the waist, tucked into a pair of black jeans and knee high suede boots supplied by an Athosian boot maker.  With a red sash and a matching bandana, with a sword shoved through the sash, he thought he looked sort of dashing.  He'd even let Beckett pierce his ears so he could wear gold earrings. 

"Aargh, matey, where's your parrot?" 

John winked at Cadman as she sauntered up, bearing two mugs of Athosian ale.  

"That's Colonel matey to you.  You're almost out of your uniform there, Lieutenant.  And a good look it is, too," John said, as he snagged one of the mugs.  "Let me guess - harem dancer?" 

Cadman wiggled her hips and the pieces of gold metal strung on the chain around her hips jangled.  "Right on, Colonel Hookless.  Stop leering and give me that beer back, it's for Rodney." 

John took a slurp.  "He won't mind.  Where is he, by the way?" 

Cadman waved one hand across the room, and the multiple gold bangles around his wrist rang.  "He's talking to Dr Weir - yes, there he is, the hairy guy with the fake beard in the purple shirt talking to Nursey." 

John blinked.  "Wow.  Is that…Elizabeth?  That dress has to be at least two sizes too small." 

"I just hope someone is recording all this.  Careers could be either broken or enhanced after tonight.  When you --"  She stopped, and her mouth fell open.  "Oh great, naked, unbelievable gods!" 

The babble in one corner of the room had ceased and the crowd parted as John turned.  And froze. 

It was Caldwell.  Colonel Steven Caldwell, austere and cerebral commander of the most powerful Tau'ri vessel in the galaxy.  Mr Stiff-Upper-Lip. 

The word that immediately sprang to mind was - _HOT!_

The pause inside the door had to be deliberate.  If Caldwell was at all concerned at being the subject of a roomful of open-mouthed stares, he didn't show it.  He just stood there, in all his 6'1" glory, and casually, deliberately, rested a hand on his hip. 

What looked like black leather that had to be sprayed on covered him from him to beneath the top of the half-leg black kickass boots.  A belt made of black leather twined with a silver chain hung over his hip, with the steel-tipped end hanging down just over his groin.  Above the waist he wore a sleeveless black t-shirt, and over one shoulder lay what looked like a black suede biker jacket. 

John began salivating.  It could prove embarrassing.  Drooling, a hard-on, pop-eyes; it didn't bode well for a quiet night…

 

####

 

He'd never had much time for jealousy.  John's approach to lovers was fairly direct: either he trusted them, or he didn't.  If he trusted them, then jealousy didn't play a part in the relationship.  If he didn't trust them, then there WAS no relationship and it was adiós, amante.  

But as he stood propping up the wall at the party, watching Caldwell surrounded by a cloud of party-goers, John felt the slow burn of jealousy.  It curled like a hot angry lump in his belly and spread down his arms and legs, tingling along his skin, making his fingers clench into fists.  The taste of food and drink he'd taken in turned sour in his mouth and his eyes narrowed.  

There was a thump next to him and he twitched, turned his head to see Ronon standing alongside him, one heel raised against the wall.  The Satedan was dressed outrageously as an American Indian, right down the feathers beaded into his hair, fringed leather pants and a very real hatchet tucked into his braided rope belt.  On him the outrageous looked good. 

Dark eyes, half hidden by drooping eyelids, watched John with amused interest.  "You alright?" 

"Fine," John said, grinding out each word as he looked away and back towards Caldwell.  "Just fine." 

"Must have a different meaning where you come from.  You look about as fine as a man who wants to rip someone's throat out."  Ronon shrugged and sipped from a big mug.  "Know the feeling well, myself, but on you it's a different look." 

John turned back to Ronon and smiled, feral. "No.  Having so much fun.  Go away now before I bite you." 

Ronon, undisturbed by the threat, turned away from observing John to look across the room.  Like the hunter he was, the Satedan zeroed in on the cause of John's displeasure.  "Colonel Caldwell is looking different.  Impressive, in fact, I didn't realise his was quite that fit.  Obviously the women of the base agree."  Slanted eyes flickered towards John.  "Some of the men, too, by the body language." 

The jealousy crawled up John's throat and erupted as a low growl, which he tried to swallow.  He pushed himself upright and went to move forward when he felt a hand grasp his arm.  Ronon was beside him, bending very slightly in an almost protective curve of chest and arm. 

"Take care.  You wear your feelings on your face and body as openly as these foolish costumes.  Do not betray yourself, or him." 

John tried to calm himself; he knew he was acting like an idiot, that it was a party, that none of it meant anything -- and that somehow the ever-observant Ronon had picked up on something he shouldn't know about.  John put aside the concern that Ronon had somehow guessed his secret for another time.  Ronon, he knew, could be trusted with any life secret.  He took a deep breath and, since there was nothing he could say that would make anything better, he just nodded before walking with a more calm purpose through the crowd. 

That lasted about as long as it took to observe Caldwell smiling crookedly down at the young Atlantis technician who'd offered him a drink.  Nobody, but nobody, should be at the receiving end of that smile but him.  Possessiveness grabbed him about the throat and pushed common sense out the door. 

John shoved past the group around Caldwell and stood in front of the Colonel, an unsmiling force of energy that made the rest of the party-goers pull back instinctively.  Caldwell looked up from the young woman who'd stopped in midsentence and into a pair of hot hazel eyes.

 

 ####

 

 Honestly, he'd suspected his appearance would have an effect on John.  Or perhaps hoped it would.  Their relationship was difficult enough, but sometimes he needed to push the boundaries a little, to test his effect on his volatile lover.  He knew he'd managed that with one look into John's stormy features. 

But still, they were in public, and security must be maintained. 

"Colonel Sheppard.  Did you wish to speak to me?" 

His tone was deliberately level and toneless, an almost subliminal code to bring John to an awareness of where they were.  He looked into the hazel eyes, waited, and saw the emotions fade, the expression shift into familiar, less dangerous lines. 

"Yes, as a matter of fact."  John took a mouthful of beer from the mug he held and looked around the room with a deliberate, casual air.  "I've had some new intel on that trip we're planning next week to M5R-067.  It's sort of time-sensitive."  He smiled briefly, casually.  "Won't take more than a few minutes and then you can get back to your carousing." 

Steven smiled, mildly.  "This is hardly the place to discuss business, Sheppard.  Surely it could wait until tomorrow?" 

John started breathing heavily, nostrils widening with the effort.  "Won't take long.  Perhaps we could step outside?  Don't want to bore you or anything…" 

"Oh you rarely bore me, Colonel."  He nodded to Elizabeth, seeing her lowered brows; she had a sort of emotive radar where he and Sheppard were concerned.  "Very well.  A brief aside then." 

The walked silently out of the room and down a passageway until they'd left the party behind.  There was a flash of movement as John turned to survey the empty corridor, then Steven felt himself being pulled into one of the many empty rooms on Atlantis.  His back and head thumped against the wall as John pushed him backwards. 

He opened his mouth to speak only to find it full of John's tongue.  Hands moved over him, pulling and pushing as the younger man pressed against him.  John pulled back from a kiss that left Steven feeling breathless and hot with anticipation.  Sexual energy throbbed through both of them, a familiar slow electrical burn. 

"Have I mentioned," John said, breathlessly, "that I really don't like you." 

Steven smiled and slid his fingers through the mad tumble of John's hair.  "Frequently, and you're not a very good liar.  I know there are quite a few things you like about me.  You like my hands," he drawled, working his fingers down the back of John's head to his neck, cupping John's head in his hands, fingers sliding around the prominent ears.  "You like the sound of my voice.  You like the feel of my mouth on you --" and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to John's closed eyes, one after another, "--here and here, and here," he finished, moving down to lock their mouths together, searching out John's breath, pressing deeper and closer, twisting his head until their mouths fitted just perfectly, sealing them together.  

Talking, at that point, was impossible.  And unnecessary.  All the communicating they needed to do, they did with their bodies.  _And my, don't we understand each other…_

John's hands slid beneath his t-shirt, callused palms moving over his ribs, around his sides and high up to his shoulder blades, locking them closer together.  Steven liked it best that way, when they were wrapped up with each other so closely there was nothing between them, not guilt or fear or concern, when they were so close the heat moved between them like a current, and the only thing that mattered was the moment. The feelings they shared would sometimes overload his mind and make him forget that not everyone saw what they shared as sublime. 

And John tasted so good, healthy and strong and clean.  _Vintage Sheppard, aged to perfection…_   He pulled back or maybe John did and they were both flushed, nostrils flaring for air and he saw sparks lighting the tawny eyes. 

"Tell me," Steven said, running a finger across the wide mouth, "what was that little display about?  You weren't jealous, by any chance, were you?" 

John gave an exaggerated snort, his eyes suddenly hooded with amusement.  "Me?  Jealous?  Crap! " 

"As I said, a bad liar.  Don't ever play poker with me, Sheppard, you can't bluff worth a damn." 

Predictably, John arched backwards, without actually breaking contact.  "Can too!  Why, there was that time on, I dunno, can't remember the name of the place, but I bluffed really well!"  He sneered, looking charmingly young.  "I'm multi-skilled, and trained, and, and, and I have the gene!" 

"Which accounts for it, I suppose," Steven said, leaning forward into John's arms for what was definitely, absolutely, nothing like cuddling.  "Makes me wonder if all Ancients were oversexed contradictory idiots with a penchant for peculiar films." 

He watched John go cross-eyed trying to figure out if he'd been insulted.  To get his mind back on the essentials, Steven slowly rubbed his groin against John's hip.  Sheppard's eyes snapped into focus and his eyelids lowered and one side of his mouth quirked up.  _I so know where your on switch is…._

John licked his lips, moved slightly to the side, and kicked the door closed, before slamming the lock with the back of his hand.  It clicked shut with a satisfying sense of security, and in the moment that John turned to check the door, Steven moved behind him and shoved him hard face-first against the wall. 

"Jealousy is a curse," Steven whispered, "didn't anyone ever tell you that?" 

"Mph" John responded as he wriggled around to face Steven. "Yeah, sure, McKay did just the other night when he and I were making out on the south pier.  Nothing like a friend with an ego and a big mouth who likes to participate in a real personal way.  Not to mention someone who really knows the way of sucking man's cock right down." 

"Really?"  The idea of Atlantis' voluble scientist on his knees giving John a blow job was surprisingly erotic, even though Steven knew it was a lie.  "Maybe I should go talk to him. No risk in that, after all, he's not military.  That mouth might be large enough to take me, too, don't you think?" 

"I think," John drawled, nostrils flaring, "that the only place that big cock of yours should go is in me.  Of course, I could be biased there.  But I'll ask him, if you want." 

Steven pulled the white shirt up over John's head and tossed it aside, then bent to apply his teeth to John's right nipple.  His lover hissed and hands gripped his shoulders tightly.  He bit again, harder and his own cock twitched at the groan that vibrated through John's chest.  "Don't bother," he murmured, tongue the pink bud, "I'll talk to him myself sometime, when I'm in the mood." 

Right then, his mood was entirely subjective and personal - he wanted to suck John off until the man howled and came all over him.  All that took was some undoing of buttons and clips, the removal of some unnecessary layers of clothing, and himself, on his knees, taking John with his hands and his mouth.  John writhed against him, all talking finished; he need all his concentration just to stand and not shout as Steven bit down very gentle on the sensitive skin behind his scrotum, and to moan as Steven took his balls into his mouth and sucked them liked sweets.  And when he finally latched onto that fine, hard prick, John did indeed do some howling, even if it was muffled by his own fist shoved in his mouth. 

Steven pulled himself upright, latched onto John's mouth and kissed him hard, sharing the taste of sex, until they were both sated with it. 

"McKay was right," John said, coughing to clear a dry throat.  They were both on the floor, with John's long legs over Steven's thighs, held close again his lover's chest. 

"He usually is.  About what?" 

"Too many pirates at this party." 

Steven rested his head back against the wall and allowed himself to smile.  "I'll take all the pirates I can get." 

John opened his eyes and gave a small, satisfied huff.  "I love it when you talk dirty…"


End file.
